October 6, 1920
Varėna, Lithuania
It was a twitch, a twisting in his gut, like a leech had attached to his insides and was sucking the life out of him. A growth, an infestation, that he wanted to reach inside of himself and rip out. Toris closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose, feeling the parasite squirm. It was near. It was crawling, darting to stay hidden, hunting him down. Its goal was to kill him.
When Toris opened his eyes, they fell on the train station. "There."
The captain next to him shielded his face from the sun, looking out towards the railway. "What's there?"
"Him." Toris shouldered his rifle, straitening his back as his lips pressed into a firm line. He turned on his heel, marching back towards the ranks.
"Pulkininkas Laurinaitus!" the captain called out, jogging after Toris to keep up. "Do you intend to take a unit with you?"
"No." Toris rifled through a supply bag and pulled out a pistol, sliding out the magazine to make sure it was loaded.
"But… surely there is more than one, sir? You'll get killed!"
"No units," Toris said as he clicked the cartridge shut and slid the pistol into its holster. He turned to face the captain as he added, "And I won't get killed."
The captain only shook his head, knowing there was nothing he could say to change his superior's mind. "Godspeed, Pulkininkas Laurinaitus."
Toris only smiled bitterly, an expression that felt strange on his face. But he had never been himself since this war started. Sometimes he couldn't tell if the black worm squirming in his gut was the feeling of an invading nation, or the sickness of knowing that the bullets he had just loaded into his pistol were meant for his best friend.
He left the camp on foot, weaving through tents and groups of his men as they talked about the war. The word "independence" flitted through their conversations – the fever that had overtaken his people, the idea that had branded itself onto his heart and mind, pumping through his blood like molten lava. He had no power yet, only a figment of a memory of what it had tasted like. Toris felt as though he had been without water for over a hundred and twenty-five years, and now he could see it, could feel the coolness slicking down his throat… but he would have to spill blood before it was real. First it had been Russian blood. Now it would be Polish.
"He will never stop me," he growled between clenched teeth as he moved towards the looming shadow of the train station. "Russia couldn't stop me. Nobody can stop me." Independence was his new obsession, and the fight for survival had turned him into someone he barely recognized. Toris had relished in the pain burning in Russia's eyes as he pressed a pistol to his former master's forehead. He had only been a trigger-squeeze away from ending it, a moment he had dreamt of for over a century… and yet it gave him more satisfaction to watch the Russian retreat, wheezing for air as his shoulders lurched with unshed tears. "There is no need for me to kill you – your own people will do that. Go, crawl back to your precious Revolution." Later a soldier had asked Toris why he was smiling.
The train station was abandoned. Toris slowed as he neared the entrance, listening for any sign of movement. He closed his eyes once more, feeling the earth and the bricks and the air that was an extension of himself. His eyes flashed open. No army. Just one. Glancing to make sure the way was clear, he darted across the walkway and slipped into the building.
The cement floor and brick walls were dimly lit, glinting from the outside light. Each step sent a hollow echo flitting through the halls. Toris felt as though his own breathing became the building itself – tense for the first gunshot. The feeling of sickness in his stomach intensified. He pressed onward.
Thin beams of sunlight pieced through the windows. They were bleached a grim grey, pooling across the floor to reveal its cracks and rust stains dripping down the walls. Toris's fingers clenched around his pistol as he crouched near the floor, darting around each corner and scanning the area. He heard nothing – not a breath, not a footstep. As obnoxious as he was, Feliks could slip into non-existence when he wanted to. Powerful nations often underestimated him in battle, always surprised at the brutality and cunning with which he fought. Toris smiled bitterly. They have short memories. He would not make the same mistake as Russia. He had fought alongside Feliks in the uprisings; he knew the Pole's style as if it were his own.
Eventually Toris found himself in a wide tunnel, with two rows of pillars running along its length. He eyed the pillars, noting how they made perfect barriers to snipe from. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then sprinted across the floor to the nearest column.
BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG!
Bullets whistled past his ears and head, chips of cement flew up from the floor. He staggered behind the column and the gunshots came to an abrupt halt. Toris's chest heaved for air, fingers curling around the pistol. He heard footsteps nearing, then swung out and fired. A green blur darted behind another pillar.
Toris closed his eyes and listened. He knew there was no way to get a shot in if Feliks was hiding behind those pillars. He heard no footsteps, only the soft echoes of his own breathing. The silence was excruciating. At last he could stand it no longer, and peered around the corner –
Something smashed his head into the wall. Pain throbbed in his skull and world reeled before him. Toris barely had a chance to point the gun before it was knocked out of his hand. He growled and shoved Feliks into the pillar, twisting his arm behind his back. Feliks whirled around and a fist cut across Toris's jaw. The pistol came up again, and Toris twisted it out of Feliks's hand. He barely registered the soft shing of a knife being unsheathed before he brought up an arm to block the stab. For the first time their eyes locked, and Toris found himself staring into the face of a warrior. Pale skin was slicked with sweat, strands of blond hair puffing out as Feliks panted. His teeth were bared into a snarl, eyes narrowed into the focus that Toris recognized from battle: He was here to kill.
Feliks pulled back with the knife, and with a swift motion Toris drew his own and cut down across the Pole's chest. Feliks blocked it, and Toris twisted out of the way just as a blade whooshed past his neck. From then on he was barely aware of their moves – it was a dance of death as they slashed at each other, each attack blocked or dodged as if the other had known it was coming. Toris growled in frustration, trying to outpace his opponent, but Feliks only met his attacks with the same speed. Of course they would be evenly matched – the two had been sparring partners since the Commonwealth. Even during the uprisings, Toris had trained with Feliks to ready him for battle. Fighting the Pole hand-to-hand came almost second nature to him.
Feliks broke from the melee and bolted for his gun. Toris dashed after him, kicking it out of reach and grabbing Feliks to try and throw him down. The Pole shoved him off balance and a boot dug into his ribs. Toris moaned as he hit the ground, then looked up to see Feliks bending down to pick up the gun. His gaze darted to his own pistol, which was too far for him to reach. Toris scrambled to his feet, stumbling behind the pillar just as more gunshots rang out.
BANG, BANG, BANG!
Feliks cursed, then Toris's stomach sank as he heard the clatter of his own pistol being kicked to the far side of the tunnel. He tensed, hand tightened around the knife to prepare for another ambush. This time he could hear the ragged breaths as Feliks paced in front of the column.
"Come on!" he shouted, his voice echoing down the tunnel. "Quit being a coward!"
A familiar sense of anger roiled in his gut at those words. "I'm not the one who's being a coward. You're so afraid of losing me, you can't even let me be my own country!"
"Oh, don't start again with this bullshit." Toris didn't have to see to know that Feliks was rolling his eyes. "Without me, you would be nothing! You came back from Russia's mansion so screwed up, you could hardly speak your own language! You couldn't remember who you were, or what you had been, and you sure as hell didn't believe in what you could be! Who held you when you were falling to pieces? Who whispered folk songs in your ear and told you stories of the Commonwealth to get your memory working again? Who told you that you could be free, that you were worth something, that you didn't have to obey orders from anyone?"
Toris peered around the pillar to glare from beneath his bangs. "So wanting independence doesn't fall under any of those categories?"
Feliks growled and Toris darted behind the column just in time to avoid three gunshots. Chips of cement flew off, ricocheting across the floor.
"How can you be so freaking ungrateful!?" Feliks shouted, his voice cracking. "I spent decades waiting for you, there wasn't a single night that I didn't think about you! I had a future planned, a happy ending for the first time in your freaking life, and how to you thank me?" His breathing was heavy, and Toris could hear the gun shaking in his hands. "You desert me! Just – run the other way as fast as you can go, making deals with that Communist bastard! As if two hundred years of marriage meant nothing to you – "
"Marriage?" Toris scoffed. "You call what we had a marriage? When you weren't bossing me around like your personal house-maid, you were demanding sex to cope with your 'special' needs. And if not that, then you would be screaming at me to get the hell out of 'your' country and never come back!"
"Oh, because when I find out that my husband has been sleeping with a woman I'm supposed to like, be totally fine with it! No big deal, the only person in the entire world who understands me just decides to like, go prancing into the sunset with some bitch off the streets – "
"Natalia treated me better than you ever did," Toris growled.
"IT DOESN'T MATTER!" Feliks's shriek echoed down the tunnel, as if multiple voices were crying out in pain. "It doesn't matter, Liet, because you're my husband and I'm yours, and we are going to be together forever, and we are going to have each other's backs no matter what. Those were the vows, and you will have to break them over my dead body."
Toris's face hardened. He slipped the knife into its hilt, then stepped out from behind the pillar to face Feliks, their gazes sparking in the air between them. "I am no longer your husband, and you are no longer mine. We are bound by no vows."
Feliks bared his teeth, and without a word he pointed the gun to Toris's stomach. BANG!
"AAH!" Toris doubled over, warm blood soaking his uniform.
Feliks let out a humorless laugh. "Can't you see, Liet? I only want to protect you. You can't survive on your own – not your economy, not your culture, and definitely not your borders. What if Russia comes back to get you, what will you do then?" His lips flickered into a smile as he lowered the gun. "Just admit it, already: you need me."
Toris gasped, his hand trembling as he pressed his arm to the seeping wound. "That's – hhh! – w-what…. R-Russia – uhhh – told me…."
Feliks's expression twisted with rage. "Stop comparing me to RUSSIA!" Toris winced at the magnified scream. There were rapid footsteps, and he let out a cry as fingers dug into his throat. His head was forced up as the trembling barrel of a gun was pressed to his neck. "I am NOT – like Russia," Feliks hissed.
Toris gagged, his eyes bulging as he looked into bright green irises that shimmered with tears. How was it that Feliks could hate Ivan so much, and yet they both treated him so similarly? Was he really this blind? Toris's eyes narrowed as he growled through clenched teeth, "Then grant me my independence, you bitch." With a single motion, he swept the dagger from his belt and sank it into Feliks's stomach.
"AAH-uhh….ghhgh….." Green eyes widened in shock, the barrel slipping from Toris's neck. Feliks cried out in pain as Toris pulled the knife from his flesh, pressing it to his jugular. There was blood everywhere – shimmering on the knife, staining his hands, soaking into their uniforms, pooling onto the cement floor. Both of their hands trembled, their breaths garbled with pain as they glared at each other. Blood spilled from Feliks's lips as he choked, but he kept a strong grip on the gun.
"Guh – g-go ahead," he spat, flecks flying and hitting Toris in the face. "Cut my head off, just like everyone else." He swallowed, lips pulling into a stained smile even as the tears spilled over his eyes. "It will grow back."
Toris was filled with horror. Feliks was right – all it would take was a flick of the wrist, and he would be dead. The Poles would surrender and this could all come to an end. Lives would be saved on both sides and Toris would have his independence for the first time in centuries. The water he had been craving was just out of reach, and all it would take was a flick of his wrist…
But no matter how close he was, no matter the hate he saw in those eyes, it was still Feliks looking back at him. They were each other's first, they kept each other's secret, they learned what it meant to be an empire together. They fought wars, they lost wars, and every time Toris escaped from the mansion, Feliks was still waiting for him. But what broke Toris's heart was that even after all they had gone through, Feliks only saw him as a possession, as a right… just as Ivan had. Toris had thought for sure that the Pole would love him enough to let him go. But looking into those eyes now – so full of betrayal and hatred – he saw that he had been wrong.
Toris was close – he was so close – but he couldn't do it.
He pressed the blade so that it nicked a cut into Feliks's neck, his voice a low growl. "Get the hell out of my country. And don't ever come back again."
There was a clatter as the knife hit the floor. Feliks let out a gargled gasp and the gun slipped from Toris's neck. He keeled over and coughed, blood dripping from his mouth. He craned his head upwards, eyes filled with hate. "F-fuck you," he growled, and lifted the gun once more.
BANG, BANG, BANG!
"AAEEIIAAHH!" The bullets tore into Toris's skin like fire. He fell to the ground, gasping for air as he struggled to move. He tilted his head sideways to see the gun drop from Feliks's hand as he rolled onto his back and moaned.
Toris looked up at the ceiling, feeling the blood leak from him like a spilled tank of gasoline. He tried to breathe, but every movement sent a raging fire through his body. The only sounds echoing through the train station was their gargled breaths. Blackness began to eat at the corners of his vision and Toris felt himself slipping away. He thought he heard shouts, but they sounded so distant…
The last thing he remembered was trying to say a single word, but unable to find his voice past the blood clogging his throat:
"F-F… Feliks…"
June 28, 1941
Berlin, Germany
"You have officially been annexed as a territory of the Third Reich. All national identity and rights to self-govern are hereby revoked. From hereon forthwith, you are sentenced to the service of to the names of those that follow: Ludwig Beilschmidt, nation representative of Germany and the Third Reich, and Gilbert Beilschmidt, nation representative of East Prussia. In addition to these authoritative figures, while in the Nazi Nation Establishment you are also under the jurisdiction of nation representatives Roderich Edelstein and Elizaveta Hedevary. Any course of action taken to undermine the aforementioned authorities is considered an offense against the Third Reich and will be dealt with according to the present master's discretion. All courses of discipline may be supervised and altered according to the Führer's discretion. Lang lebe unser ruhmvoller Führer.
"You have entered the Nazi Nation Establishment at approximately sixteen hours, Berlin time. As a newly acquired territory, you are allowed exactly twenty-four hours during which you are allowed to speak the appointed neutral language. The appointed neutral language at the current time is English. After the twenty-fourth hour you are required by law to speak German. All other forms of language are prohibited, both in speech and in writing. Failure to comply by this law is considered an offense against the Third Reich and will be dealt with according to the present master's discretion. All courses of discipline may be supervised and altered according to the Führer's discretion, lang lebe unser ruhmvoller Führer.
"Upon meeting authorities, all Third Reich territories are to raise their right hand in a salute and say clearly and loudly, 'Heil Hitler.' Upon leaving the presence of authorities, all Third Reich territories are to do the same. Failure to respond to authorities with the proper salute is considered an offense against the Third Reich and will be dealt with according to the present master's discretion. All courses of discipline may be supervised and altered according to the Führer's discretion, lang lebe unser ruhmvoller Führer.
"As a territory of the Third Reich, you have now entered an empire of which the world has never seen. Participation in such an empire is to be considered the greatest honor, as the old shall be replaced with the new, Ein Volk, ein Reich, ein Führer." Austria didn't even glance up or pause to take a breath during the entire speech. "You'll be rooming with Poland. Here are your issued uniforms, Poland can help you locate the room." He flicked up his eyes in expectation. "Well?"
"Ah… uh, Jawohl."
The former empire steeped his gloved fingers on the desk. "It is essential that you understand one thing, Litauen, and that is this: I have little patience for the impulsive desires of every country in Europe. If we were under normal circumstances, I would order you not to bring any issues to my attention unless someone were dying." A bitter smile crossed his face. "But seeing as in our current situation, everyone is dying, I see no reason to be summoned at all. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"
Toris felt his heart ache. "You hate it here, don't you?"
Austria's eyes narrowed into indigo slits. "I didn't hear a Jawohl, Litauen."
"But you can't do anything about it, because if you do Hitler will find out. And he will punish you."
"It is not often that I am forced to draw blood on the first day of a territory's arrival. I would prefer you not oblige me to do it again."
Toris bowed his head. "Jawohl."
Austria raised an eyebrow, as if waiting for something. Toris realized he was dismissed, and snapped into a quick salute. "Heil Hitler!"
"Heil Hitler," Austria muttered, not even bothering to raise his arm.
Toris turned and left the office. He felt as though in a dream. Surely this couldn't be happening to him. Surely, an officer would come knock on the door and say that this was all a big mistake, that he was supposed to be back in Vilnius with his people, that a treaty had been negotiated and that he could have his own government… How many times must his freedom be taken away?
As Toris walked back though the house, his eyes roamed over the walls and floors. It was mostly blank, with the occasional framed portrait of Hitler. It was so different from Ivan's house, almost cluttered with old artifacts and art collections. Once again Toris had the uneasy feeling that this wasn't a mansion at all – it was a prison cell.
The sickness in his stomach only got worse as he neared the dining room where he had last seen Feliks. Toris didn't know what to feel – he was excited, relieved, terrified, guilty all at the same time. A part of him wanted to avoid Feliks, while the other part screamed to be able to talk to him. Toris was so lost in thought that he nearly tripped over a girl polishing the floor.
"Oh! Oh, Dieve – I'm so sorry!"
Golden brown eyes looked up through brittle brunette hair that fell to her shoulders, a matted braid clipped to the side. Her brows furrowed in recognition. "Ich habe Sie schon irgendwo mal gelesen..."
"I-I'm Lithuania, I just got here." Toris felt so stupid speaking English, but he could barely remember any German.
Her face fell. "Oh. Es tut mir Leid."
Toris recognized it as an apology. "Do – you you know where I could find Poland?"
"Polen? Ich schätze er ist gerade im Esszimme." When Toris only looked at her blankly she whispered in a thick accent, "Dining room. Just go down the hall and to the left."
"Ah, danke." Toris was just about to keep walking, when suddenly the girl jumped to her feet and blocked his path. Her eyes were urgent as she whispered, "I have to warn you. Poland's room is not far from me and my brother's – we could sometimes hear him speaking with Hungary." She glanced down the hallway, clearly nervous that she was having to speak English. Her voice was even softer as she whispered, "He has been cursing your name since the day he got here. He's wished terrible things upon you – things I don't dare repeat."
Toris's heart sank. No…
"Be careful. Poland may look weak, but he has connections. I can't tell you how many times he has tried to kill the German brothers."
Toris felt his legs grow weak. So it was true… Feliks still hated him. He barely managed to find his voice. "Th-thank you, um… sorry, what was your name again?"
"Czech." Her eyes were downcast, not at all proud of the name.
Somehow Toris managed to pull his lips into a soft smile. "Thank you, Czech."
She looked up at him for a moment, her face a mask that made it impossible to read any emotion. "You have a nice smile. Don't let them steal it from you." Toris opened his mouth to reply, but she knelt down without a word and continued polishing the floor.
Toris wasn't sure what to do now. He felt as thought he might be sick, knowing how Feliks felt about him. But surely he had seen that Toris was sorry for what he had done? He walked towards the dining room almost in a trance, not knowing what he should say. He heard the steady scrubbing of the brush on the floor as he neared. At last he came to the doorway, and he stood in silence as he watched the skeletal form move the brush up and down. Toris's throat tightened. Feliks was alive, but just barely. He seemed so frail, as if a simple breeze could knock him down. For the longest time he stood, watching the Pole move the brush up, and down, up, and down.
"Was willst du von mir?"
Toris started when he realized that Feliks had spoken German. He had always hated the language, and it was nearly impossible to get Feliks to speak a language he disliked. Toris shuddered as he realized the kind of torture Feliks must have gone through.
"Austria said we're to share a room."
"Austria can go like, fuck himself." Feliks dunked the brush in the bucket and continued scrubbing.
Toris was almost relieved to hear that Feliks hadn't lost his rebellious spirit. "Where is your room?"
"In der dritten Etage, die fünfte Tür hinter den zwei Wohnzimmern."
"You know I can't speak German – "
For the first time Feliks lifted his head to glare at Toris with a single eye. Again Toris found himself shocked at the extend of injuries on the Pole's face. "Then you'd better learn quick before they like, grind up your intestines into wurst, tak?"
Toris felt the blood drain from his face, but he kept his cool. "Where is your room."
"Third floor, fifth door on the right." Feliks narrowed one eye. "And if you so much as breath on any of my stuff, I'll hang you with a freaking curtain rope in the middle of the night."
Toris tried not to think about how detailed that threat was, and how Feliks would be able to do it even in his weak state. He didn't doubt for a second that the Pole was serious. Toris looked into that green eye, but all he could see was hate. He lowered his gaze to the floor and left the dining room, listening to the steady scrub of the brush on tile.
Toris felt numb as his boots echoed in the hallway. He somehow found his way to a staircase, and walked down a long hallway until he reached a closed door. He pressed a hand to the wood and it opened soundlessly. The room was small and without windows, a queen-sized bed in the center. The sheets were perfectly folded, and on the back wall was a desk. For a moment Toris was positive that this couldn't possibly be Feliks's room – surely at least the sheets would be out of place, or there would be a discarded uniform on the floor? He approached the desk, tempted to open the drawers until he remembered Feliks's threat. Then it hit Toris: This is Feliks's room.
His legs grew weak. Toris walked to the bed and lowered himself onto the mattress, feeling his skin tingle and his breathing grow heavy. Feliks has a room. Feliks is alive. His hands trembled as he balled a fist around the sheets, bringing them up to his face to breathe in the scent. Past the laundry soap and mustiness of the Nazi household, Toris recognized what he thought he would never smell again: wheat fields, pastries and horse mane, with just the right tinge of sea-salt and shampoo. And before Toris could stop himself, he was sobbing into the fabric.
June 17, 1940
Moscow, Soviet Union
Cool violet eyes burned into Toris, but he wasn't afraid. What was there to fear? Death? Pain? He had been there before, choked on so much of it that by now he must be immune. He had bit his tongue during negotiations, but now that Ivan had gotten his way, there was nothing to lose. Twenty years of independence had thickened Toris's blood. He knew who he was, and what his people were capable of. No amount of treaties or torture could change that.
Ivan's lips flashed into a cold smile. "You don't seem happy to be here, Litva."
Toris narrowed his eyes. "Are you so surprised?"
"Mmm… I believe disappointed is a better word, da? I expected more gratitude, seeing as I am the only one standing between you and fascism."
Toris curled a lip. "Fascism and Communism are only two sides of the same coin. I'm sure Ukraine could enlighten you of their similarities."
Ivan's expression grew dark. "What do you know about my sister?"
"I know that your 'perfect' system nearly starved her to death. Are you so sure it's fascism we need to be protected from?"
Ivan crossed the room and struck Toris so hard that he fell to the ground. A huge fist balled around his collar and wrenched him to his feet, violet eyes blazing inches from his own. "I will not do this again," Ivan hissed, vodka-tainted breath hot in Toris's face. "Amerika may have poisoned you with his naive ideals, but that does not change the fact that you are part of this family. Communism runs through your blood – the sooner you accept that, the fewer trains leave your borders for Siberia."
"Acceptance never stopped the deportation of your people. Don't pretend there's a criteria here, Ivan."
A low growl escaped the back of the Russian's throat. "I don't want to hurt you."
"Then let Germany do it."
Something flashed in Ivan's eyes and he released the collar of Toris's shirt. He took a step back, scanning Toris up and down as a smile ghosted across his face. "You don't know what he's capable of, do you?"
"Scores of tanks that wind as far as the eye can see, fleets of bombers that can turn a city into rubble overnight. I've heard stories."
"Then surely you must know, what happened to Poland?"
"He was dissolved, sent to go live with Germany in Berlin. I got my capital back and his land was split in two." Of course Toris knew, it had been plastered all over the headlines and the ethnic Poles had mourned the loss of their country. But he had purposefully shut out as much as the media as he could, only picking up news from what he heard on the streets and within his own government. Poland had been invaded before and would probably get invaded again – it wasn't his problem.
"Nyet, Litva." Ivan's eyes glittered. "Poland is dead."
Toris couldn't help himself, he laughed. "You know just as well as I do that being wiped off the map hardly qualifies as death for Feliks – it's practically an occupational hazard."
"Times are changing, Litva. This is no ordinary war."
Toris studied the Russian closely, trying to discern what game he was playing at. Feliks couldn't be dead, it was impossible. Why waste the breath lying about it?
Ivan turned to a side table and poured himself a glass of vodka. Toris waited as the Russian threw back the shot, then placed the glass back on the table. He leaned his weight onto the wood. "I was there, I saw it with my own eyes. I arrived in Warsaw shortly after Germany and Prussiya had trapped Poland in an abandoned building. He was already weak from the war, but of course this did not stop him from fighting back. His wounds were not healing, he could barely stand on his own two feet." Ivan's brow drew into a frown. "Soon he would not have to. They tied ropes to his wrists and ankles, then spread his arms and legs with stakes on the floor. Poland was shouting insults the whole time, but he stopped when Prussiya took out a knife."
A shudder went through Toris's body. He didn't want to heart this – he had purposefully avoided the news so that he could remain desensitized to the invasion. He couldn't afford sympathy, not after what Feliks had done to him. Ivan's voice was even as he continued, "Prussiya straddled Poland and ripped off his shirt. His chest was already ridden with bullet holes and he started to squirm, pulling at the ropes. But Prussiya only laughed and plunged the knife into his stomach."
"Ivan, please – "
The Russian whirled around to face him, locking Toris in a firm gaze. "He did not stop there. At first Poland was silent, but then he started to scream as Prussiya moved the knife upwards. He cut further, further, until it was stopped by Poland's ribcage."
Toris's eyes widened in horror. Ivan was not smiling, as he normally did when describing gory scenes. His eyes were somber, slightly distant in recollection. No… no, this didn't really happen, he's lying…
"Prussiya lifted the knife and cut the surface of the skin, to here." Ivan touched the top of his shoulder. "By now Poland was choking on his own blood and could no longer scream. Prussiya took the knife, put it back into the wound, then began to cut down. The pool of blood had reached my boots, it was at this time I looked up to see Germany turning his head so that he would not have to watch. Poland's body shuddered with the shock, his eyes rolled. When the knife reached his belt line, Prussiya unzipped his pants – "
Toris felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. His head swam with nausea. No, it isn't true, it can't be!
"Not even Germany could take it anymore, he shouted for Prussiya to stop. 'Relax,' he said, 'It's not like the faggot is going to need it anymore.' I told him that if he were to continue, our peace agreement was off. He begrudgingly agreed, but this didn't stop him from dragging the knife past Poland's belt line and to the corner of his thigh. 'See? One half for us, one half for you.' And then he pinched Poland's nose so that he couldn't breathe. There was so much blood in his lungs that he barely made a sound, the only noise was of his back hitting the floor as he convulsed. It did not take very long for him to grow still."
Toris's heart pounded in his ears as he tried to comprehend what he had just heard. He looked into Ivan's eyes as he breathed, "Is this true?"
"I have seen nations die before, Litva. Poland is not waking up. Even if he did, his body would be too weak to repair itself and he would suffer infections from the open wound. He would be in extreme pain."
"B-but Germany would have taken him to Berlin – "
"When I left, his body was still tied to the floor. Prussiya was making jokes about selling his hair for a profit." Ivan's expression was somber. "The Nazis are not here to conquer, Litva. They are here to cleanse the earth of the 'lesser' races – Jews, Gypsies, homosexuals… and Slavs. You would be foolish to think that such a cleansing ends with human beings."
Toris trembled. "Th-that's impossible, that's not…no… no, he – he c-can't be dead, he can't – "
"We are family, Litva. This is why we must unite together against them. It would be impossible for you to defend yourself against such an evil alone, and I could not bear to watch you or your brothers suffer the same fate. The Nazis are monsters – they will not stop spilling blood until they have devoured the entire continent."
"No…no!" Toris's voice rose to a shout, and he could feel his eyes heating up with tears. "You could have stopped this! You were standing right there, you – you could have saved him!"
"It was not my place."
"Not your – n-not your place!?" Toris shrieked. "What – what about all this bullshit about being family, of COURSE it was your place, you – you – you bastard, YOU COULD HAVE SAVED HIM!"
"I could have done nothing more than you. You had your chance to fight with him, and you chose to stay neutral. You knew that I would be attacking, and you made the decision not to tell him." A bitter smile crossed Ivan's face. "Do not pretend that I'm the only one at fault here, Litva."
The guilt crashed into Toris with so much force that he almost lost his footing. Ivan was right. He could have stopped this. He knew the invasion was coming and he did nothing to help… His eyes widened in horror as he realized the truth: I did this.
"What was that you said about letting Germany hurt you?" Ivan smiled. "Doesn't sound so pleasant now, da?"
Toris suddenly realized what the Russian was doing. He had been telling him this to make himself look like the righteous protector of Europe – to instill hate and fear towards the Nazis so that Toris would trust and obey him. Toris shuddered, remembering the glint in Ivan's eyes as he had slid a map of Europe across the desk months before – a map of Europe carved in half, split between the Nazis and the Soviets. Ivan wasn't trying to 'protect' the continent. He wanted to devour it just as much, if not more, than the Nazis… and he was willing to let other nations die in the process.
Toris lifted his head up to glare at his master. "I don't need protection from a nation who can watch my friend suffocate in his own blood and not lift a finger to stop it," he growled, his voice trembling with emotion. "You're right, America did poison me with his naive ideals: it's called self-worth. I don't care what you say about 'family ties' uniting us against a greater evil. You are no family to me, and I will never obey you."
A new darkness overcame Ivan's face. He took a step towards Toris, the thick scent of vodka intensifying. A chill bit into Toris's skin as the Russian smiled, a gloved finger ghosting across his neck to tilt his head upwards. Toris braced himself for those huge fingers to close around his throat. Ivan's voice was a soft rumble as he whispered, "We'll see about that, Little One." His fingers left Toris's neck, then without a word he spun on his heel and strode out of the room. The only sound was the steady thump of his footsteps fading down the hall.
Toris stood eyes wide, his entire body numb with shock. Feliks is dead. The sentence repeated over and over, but he couldn't make sense of the words. Feliks is dead. Feliks is dead. Feliks is dead. Toris tried to remember the last thing he had said to the Pole. It was at a meeting, in 1938 when Feliks had demanded that they re-establish diplomatic ties. But it had been just that: Diplomacy, and nothing more. As hard as he tried to remember any specific words, all Toris could recall was the steely look of hate that Feliks had shot him from across the meeting room. Toris felt a mixture of anger and guilt roil in his gut. What had they even been fighting over? Why had they hated each other so much?
He would never see Feliks again. He would never meet those mischievous green eyes, never hear the crackling laugh and gossiping jokes... nobody would ever call him 'Liet' again. And it was his fault.
Toris let out a strangled choke. His legs gave way and he sank to the floor on his knees, hands trembling as they pressed to the wood for balance. He gasped for air, as if in pain… and then finally the tears came and they would not stop. His sides heaved, mucus clogging his throat as he bowed his head to the floor. His entire body ached as though it was being crushed, his mind reeled as though he was free-falling from a cliff.
Toris was barely aware of the sound of rushing footsteps, hands cupping his face and asking what was wrong. "He – he's dead!" He wailed in his own language. "He's dead, he – he – he's – d-d…. d… F-Feliks… NO-OO-O! NO, NOOOO!" He felt arms around him, the familiar scent of the Baltic sea, and he clung onto his brothers and screamed as he felt the entire world collapse beneath his feet.
History Notes
The Polish-Lithuanian War:
After the end of WWI, the Polish and Lithuanian armies worked together to fight against advancing Soviet Forces. Poland didn't recognize Lithuania's independence and wanted to re-establish a union similar to that of the Commonwealth. They also refused to leave the Vilnius region, claiming that the majority of its inhabitants were Polish. In 1919 Poland attempted a coup of the Lithuanian government, but it failed. Tensions heightened when Lithuania signed a treaty with the Soviets, allowing for free troop movement within their borders to help the Soviets fight Poland. Poland accused the Lithuanian government of being a Soviet puppet, while Lithuania claimed they were only defending their borders. With pressure from the League of Nations, an armistice was signed on November 29, 1920. Poland retained control of Vilnius, which Lithuania refused to recognize. There were no diplomatic relations between Poland and Lithuania until 1938, when Poland demanded relations be reestablished to protect against Nazi invasion.
Soviet Deportations:
After Stalin took control of the Soviet Union in 1927, he started mass deportations of "enemies of the state". What began as a way to remove political rivals turned into a purging of innocent civilians. Between 1936 and 1938, an estimated 1.2 million people were killed in what became known as the Great Purge.
Ukraine:
The Holodomor was a devastating famine that struck Ukraine from 1932-1933. It was caused by the Soviet collectivization of farms and poor management by the government which forced peasants to grow unfamiliar crops. A large amount of grain wasn't harvested, and even when it was, it was often lost during processing, transportation, or storage. It's estimated that up to 7.5 million people died in the famine.
Invasion of Poland:
The invasion of Poland was first carried out by the Nazis on September 1, 1939. While the Poles had good military organization from the Polish-Soviet wars, they were vastly outnumbered in weapons and manpower by the Nazis. They attacked on Poland's western, southern and northern borders, while aircraft began raids on Polish cities. By September 17, Poland's only hope was to retreat and reorganize. These plans were destroyed nearly overnight when the over 800,000-strong Red Army attacked from the East. In addition to conquering the country, the invasion was an attempt to create "living space" for Germans. Atrocities were committed against Polish civilians, and up to 200,000 were killed. After the invasion was over, Poland was divided between the Nazis and the Soviet Union. Lithuania received back its capital, Vilnius, as promised in a mutual-assistance treaty with the USSR.
Surrounding the invasion, Lithuania refused to back the Polish government, not believing that Poland could win against the Nazis or Soviets. Even after they accepted Poland's 1938 ultimatum (which made it possible to send a letter directly from Poland to Lithuania without it getting shipped to another country first. Yeah, relations were THAT bad.), Lithuania did not send any troops to assist Poland in the invasion.
AN:
I apologize for three things, One: the gore. I know this chapter is more graphic than what I usually write, but war is messy. Two: the ungodly length of this chapter – I hope it was exciting enough to keep you reading. And three: I lied about this story being only two chapters... but with me, this shouldn't be much of a surprise. Also I have to send out a huge DANKE to my German friend for helping me with translations. ^ ^
Thank you so much for reading, and reviews are much loved!